Be Careful What You Wish For
by Ivory Moon
Summary: (HH/LOTR crossover) Very silly look at certain naval officers and their adventures in Middle-Earth. Be afraid.
1. Prologue

Be Careful What You Wish For

  
  
  
  


Author's Note:

  
  


Hoo boy. I've truly gone off the deep end with this one. Here, in all its doubtful glory, I present to you: the Horatio Hornblower/Lord of the Rings cross-over. Can it be done? Why not, I say. Just a warning, this story makes no attempt to be serious, so I tell you now: here there be silliness. Hope everybody enjoys this. 

  
  


Cheers, Ivory Moon

  
  
  
  


Standard Disclaimer:

  
  


Don't own Middle-Earth, it belongs to Tolkien. Don't own Hornblower and various characters, they belong to CS Forester and whatever big companies are laying claim this week.

  
  
  
  


Rating:

  
  


PG-13 for some language, and comedic violence.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Prologue: Where a Certain Blue-Eyed Hobbit Is Upstaged By a Cute Naval Officer 

  
  
  
  


"I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had ever happened."

  
  


Frodo closed his eyes, fruitlessly wishing for the thousandth time (or maybe it just seemed that way from the audience) that when he opened them, the hateful golden object would be gone. 

  
  


No such luck. The ring still sat in the palm of his hand, metaphorically taunting him. (Actually, when I think how crazy Frodo went before the end of the trilogy, it's very possible that the Ring was in fact, doing the evil equivalent of blowing raspberries. But I digress.).

  
  


He stood beside the deceptively calm Anduin river, screwing up his courage to leave. The elf-boats of Lorien bobbed peacefully near him, and he reached out to pull one nearer. "How I wish the ring had never come to me..." he wished once more.

  
  


Now this fact is not widely known, but the gods have a rather twisted sense of humour, and they enjoy an ironic twist of events as much as the next man...or hobbit. They also truly believe in the saying 'Be careful what you wish for...'. 

  
  


That is to say, that, after having heard Frodo's plea for the twenty millionth time, somebody upstairs said, "Sod this. Let's give the poor Hobbit what he wants. He's already gotten rich enough off this movie." Besides, the gods had grown tired of the adorability that was Elijah Wood -sorry, I mean, Frodo Baggins- and were ready to try something new. Perhaps with a character who was a bit less *whiny*.

  
  


My, but the gods' sense of humour is ineffable, which means that you shouldn't try to understand it if you are a mere mortal, as it may perchance cause spontaneous combustion of gray matter. But one god remembered seeing, in an alternate universe (in a galaxy far, far away, if you wish) a tiny wooden ship toddling around on a tiny ocean.

  
  


Horatio Hornblower stood on the deck of His Majesty's Ship Renown, having no idea that his life was about to take a turn for the decidedly weird... 

  
  



	2. Chapter One

Chapter One: Where There Is a Remarkable Amount of Well-Placed Panic

  
  
  
  


Horatio woke up one fateful morning to a completely unexpected sound. Birds were singing outside his window. As a seasoned naval officer, he'd almost forgotten any bird song but the cry of the sea gull. Had he been fully awake, he would have found this odd. But Horatio was *not* by nature an early riser, and he put down this unusual awakening to a dream...

  
  


This was not surprising. Intelligent as he was, he really didn't get going until after his sixth or seventh coffee each morning, a fact which caused much snickering in the wardroom aboard Renown.

  
  


Rolling over, he nestled deeper into the feather mattress...his eyes flew open. Decidedly awake now, he struggled free of the covers into a sitting position. Birds, his caffeine-deprived mind could explain away, but his cabin most definitely did *not* contain a feather bed...or a fireplace...or a comfortable armchair. 

  
  


Oh dear.

  
  


Most people, upon awakening in a strange place, would have panicked, or at least checked themselves for any new piercings or tattoos, but not Our Hero. He rolled swiftly off the bed, all thoughts of sleep forgotten, and he headed for the door. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed a poker from beside the fireplace, just in case a weapon would prove useful.

  
  


He wandered out of the bedroom, examining what appeared to be a comfortable, although otherwise uninhabited home. It was completely unfamiliar, however, and there were several strange elements, such as perfectly round windows and doors. Sunlight streamed through these windows, and he heard faint sounds of activity outdoors.

  
  


Intrigued, but not quite alarmed, Horatio headed for the door and potential answers. 

  
  


He had just reached to turn the knob when it flew open of its own accord. Rather violently, actually. 

  
  


Horatio's jaw dropped as he took in the panting figure in the doorway. "Archie?"

  
  


It was indeed Archie Kennedy, but as Horatio had never seen him. He appeared to be wearing some kind of homespun garments, completely unlike his normal uniform. His hair was loose and mussed, and his chest was heaving from what appeared to be a long run.

  
  


His eyes widened as he looked at his best friend, and Horatio realized with the first stirrings of panic that he had no idea how *he* currently looked.

  
  


Slowly, he tore his gaze from Archie's and glanced down, first at his own odd clothing, and then...he suppressed a scream as he saw his feet. Oversized, bare, and covered with soft fur, they looked as if they were slowly being eaten by manic weasels.

He looked up abruptly as the other former officer of Renown stepped through the door.

  
  


Archie the Hobbit met his gaze, and unconsciously echoed his current thought: "We're in deep trouble." 


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Where A Captain's Paranoia is Actually Put to Good Narrative Use

  
  
  
  


Archie and Horatio stood staring at each other for quite some time before a distant voice jarred

them from their horrified contemplations.

  
  


"Sam! Samwise Gamgee, you get back here or I'll tan your hide! What do you think you're

doing, running off like that? Sam! I say, Sam!"

  
  


As one, both officers turned to look at the angry figure approaching on the road. The man

(rather, Hobbit) was short, and dressed similarly to Archie. He was also carrying a garden spade

which he waved in a threatening manner. Horatio had never considered the offensive uses of a

gardening tool before, and now didn't seem like a good time to start.

  
  


The old Hobbit came closer, and they could hear his angry voice more clearly: "What, are you too

good to plant taters with your old gaffer, running off without a word, and now idling, wasting

good Mr. Baggins' time! Why I'll..."

  
  


Horatio felt remarkably calm, under the circumstances. "He appears quite angry."

  
  


Archie nodded. "I think he is, in fact, talking to me," he replied, his voice perhaps a bit *too*

steady. 

  
  


"Hmm. That spade also looks quite heavy, and will quite probably hurt if he bashes it over your

head. I suggest we adjourn to the inside of this lovely dwelling, and perhaps lock the door."

  
  


"I agree."

  
  


A moment later, they had slammed the door, mercifully cutting off the gaffer's irascible ranting.

  
  


"Well now," Horatio dusted off his hands and moved with exaggerated care towards the kitchen.

Archie followed and they sat in chairs, that while appearing ridiculously small, seemed to fit them

perfectly. "Suppose you'd like to tell me why that apparently crazy old man wanted to beat the

tar out of you?"

  
  


Archie shrugged, a slightly manic grin beginning to break through his calm facade. "I'm not sure. 

The last thing I knew, I was in the wardroom on the Renown. Then, all of a sudden, I'm kneeling

in the dirt with that old man planting potatoes. Potatoes, Horatio. Can you imagine it?" A

slightly hysterical giggle followed this, and Horatio felt the urge to giggle himself. 

  
  


The two naval-officers-turned-hobbits might have dissolved into fits of insane laughter at this

point, had a new danger not suddenly presented itself. More specifically, a danger in the form of a

looming, raving lunatic in shabby grey robes...

  
  


"It's a plot! They'll try to take it away, I tell you. Sneaking, whispering, spying! A plot of

Sauron, I tell you!"

  
  


Horatio and Archie were distracted from their own respective mental breakdowns by the timely

appearance of Captain James Sawyer, lately of HMS Renown. He seemed very little changed

from the last time they'd seen him (wild eyes, incoherent babble, sloppy dressing habits) but he'd

traded in his straight jacket for a robe, a long wooden staff and a pointed hat. 

  
  


Now, what must be understood is that Captain Sawyer, upon landing in this bizarre world, did no

soul-searching, nor did he wonder what the hell was going on, as his lieutenants did. No, Captain

Sawyer was fortunately not cursed with that which we call 'sanity', and therefore, unlike his

lieutenants, he understood his position immediately, and very well.

  
  


"Captain Sawyer," Horatio breathed a sigh of relief to see another familiar face, even if it was the

mad captain.

  
  


Sawyer stood before them, and for the first time, Horatio and Archie realized *exactly* how short

they were. The old man seemed overjoyed with his newfound looming abilities, less so with the

fact that he kept smacking his head off the rafters of the house.

  
  


Archie decided privately that the incessant smacking was probably scrambling the captain's brain

still further, so he quickly escorted Sawyer down to the largest chair in the room. Even there, it

was a tight fit, and the legs creaked ominously.

  
  


"Ah, lads," Sawyer said enthusiastically, apparently noticing them for the first time. "We're off

for a grand adventure, I say! Just grab that ring from your pocket and we'll be on our way, Mr.

Hornblower, or might I call you Frodo Baggins."

  
  


"Sir..." Horatio began uncertainly. He glanced at Archie, who shrugged and rolled his eyes, then

his glance fell on the hearth, and inspiration struck. "Would you like some tea, sir?" he asked in

his best placatingly-non-confrontational-humour-the-old-bat voice (and you all know the one I'm

talking about).

  
  


"Tea? No time for tea, boy, there are plots afoot. You must get out of the Shire straight away,

or there'll be nasty buggers after you, and no mistake."

  
  


Horatio, not for the first time, felt completely out of his league in dealing with the crazed good

humour of the captain. He stood, taking a step towards Sawyer, mindful of the fact that he was 

now apparently three feet tall. He was silently weighing his chances of successfully kicking the

captain in the shin and escaping through the front door with Archie. He judged that they would

have better luck fighting off the old man with the shovel than Sawyer in his current mood, and

could at least run over the gaffer without being guilty of gross insubordination. 

  
  


But then Sawyer began waving that heavy wooden staff he carried, and Horatio glanced down at

the puny iron poker he still unconsciously held. He decided that he had far less than an even

chance, and also concluded that discretion was the better part of valour here and sat back down,

dropping the poker with a clatter. Naturally, using his superior Horatio-smartness, he'd weighed

all the options in the space of a few moments, and the captain was still talking expansively about

his 'mission'.

  
  


As previously mentioned, Sawyer was unburdened by sanity, and consequently understood their

purpose in Middle-Earth very well. Archie decided that since his morning had begun face-first in

the dirt, planting potatoes, it certainly couldn't get any worse, and risked a direct question. "Sir,

you seem to understand our situation well enough. Perhaps you could explain it to Mr.

Hornblower and myself?" It made a warped kind of sense, he felt, that this crazy world should be

explained by a lunatic.

  
  


"Glad you asked, Mr. Kennedy," the captain beamed. "You see, Mr. Hornblower is in possession

of a golden ring, forged by the Dark Lord Sauron in the fires of the Cracks of Doom, and our

mission is..."

  
  


As Sawyer slowly cranked up to full explanatory speed, Archie instinctively decided that he'd

been wrong. His day was about to get a *lot* worse.


End file.
